


Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Illness, elder care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illness, arguments ... Not the usual fluff ... You have been warned</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock never calls Watson "Joan" unless the circumstances require an emotional separation between his Watson and the rest of the world's Joan.

One more word, one more sweep of a hand and she would shatter, splinter into a thousand pieces.

A side step and he was at the edge of the argument, observing. 

Watson stood in jagged angles, brittle with pain. Blank eyes attempted to mask the panic but her body, taut with the strain of disguising the outward signs of internal hemorrhage, broadcast her distress. Her fear of losing control was palpable. 

Sherlock vibrated with the need to intercede. Reaching out to assist her, might topple her; comfort or support would surely crumble her and send her walls crashing. He had no wish to cause further injury. 

....And still the man badgered and continued his attack -- honey-dipped but scathing accusations followed by scalpel sharp cuts to her psyche. 

Shielding her, he decided, shielding her was his best choice. Sherlock suddenly stepped in between them, faced her combatant and blocked her from his view. 

He spoke without looking at her. "Joan, sorry to interrupt, would you go upstairs and find the Bracken file. I believe it is in your room."

The light swoosh of her skirt behind him confirmed her immediate movement. He waited for her footfall on the stairs before continuing. 

Glaring at the man who had pushed his partner into this condition, he spoke softly but with determined precision. "You are done here, Mr. Watson. Please leave."

The older man took on a look of affable camaraderie, "It's Henry, call me Henry, Sherlock ..."

"Alright, Henry. Get out."

The senior Watson snorted, reverting to a version of the dismissive tone he'd used with Joan, "Excuse me, Sherlock, but I was having a conversation with my daughter that I would like to finish..."

"You, sir, were not having a conversation, you were bullying and aggressively so I might add, using guilt and a moral superiority, which you most certainly do not possess, to force her to acquiesce to what she clearly feels is wrong." Sherlock paused and gave him the grimaced smile he reserved for serial killers and his own father, before continuing, "Consider me her proxy. I am saying what filial duty prevents her from uttering. Leave."

Henry Watson's face studied Sherlock's and then crinkled in amusement. "You really do love Joan don't you? I'm sure she likes you too, huh?"

Sherlock caught the cloaked leering intimation and disgust registered across his face. "Mr. Watson, the relationship between your stepdaughter and myself is absolutely none of your concern. Now, if you will ..." Stiff-backed, he led the way to the foyer and held the door open for his unwelcomed guest. As Henry approached, Sherlock warned him, "Do not make any decisions about Mary's care or hospitalization until Joan has the opportunity to speak with Oren directly and they come to a consensus."

Henry balked at the demand and answered flippantly, "I don't care what sort of consensus they come to, I have legal authority. I'm her husband. I will do as I see fit with or without ...."

Sherlock stared at the man icily, "You hold many secrets do you not, Mr. Watson? If I were in your shoes I would not be quite so cavalier. Joan and I have a great many contacts in law enforcement and the judicial system."

Mr. Watson took a half step towards him, a half smile barely hid his irritation, "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes." Sherlock stared him down. "Let me assure you, I have no moral qualms about stepping in, in any manner, to protect Mary and Joan, should you make it necessary. Understood?"

Without further word, Henry Watson exited the brownstone. 

Sherlock closed the door and listened. The quiet was broken by a muted creak He turned. At the top of the stairs sat the silhouetted figure of his Watson. 

 

Sherlock assessed her condition as he climbed towards her. She met his eyes striving to appear calmer, more composed. The jagged edges were smoothed out but the brittleness remained.

Watson watched him as he approached. "Thank you."

Nodding in acknowledgement, he sat next to her, staring ahead, giving her time. A quiet moment passed.

Joan looked down and smoothed the folds of her long skirt. "I don't usually let him get to me like that anymore, but this whole week with my mom ... in the hospital ....." she stopped to regain control. The image of her mom small, scared, lost, confined to the sterile care of strangers brought tears to her eyes again. "He knows how to get to me."

"Hmm... At least my father is blatantly evil; you know you are dealing with the devil at first sight. Yours .... yours is a beige cardiganed manipulator ... A monster whose claws you don't expect until they are at your throat." He glanced at her and quickly added, "No offense, just an opinion." 

She smiled, a genuine smile that lifted his heart. "Your right, no need to apologize. Few people see that side of him. I spent a life time pretending it wasn't there." Joan swallowed hard blinking back the memories of all the hurt the man had inflicted on her for her own good. She continued in a whisper. "He waits, gets you at your most vulnerable, uses every misstep, every angry word and emotion against you until he gets his way..."

"I'm sorry." He murmured, understanding now why she so rarely shared her feelings, why she blamed herself for mistakes and accidents, why she needed to always remain in control. Sherlock said nothing, handed her his handkerchief and waited for her to continue. 

"I can't believe he would do this though." Joan wiped the tears that she allowed to slip, swallowing down all the horrible accusations of ingratitude and selfishness her stepfather had hurled at her and instead focused at the core of their argument. "How could he send her away?"


End file.
